The FN451z beeped from somewhere down the hall, and I shot a sideways glance at Joe. And even if our fathers are both really, really, quirky.
He knelt down and pulled out a stack of yearbooks—four Hilleville High Highpoints from the bottom shelf. “What are we looking for?” he asked, and I reminded him that checking his daughter’s yearbooks was his idea.
I sat down cross-legged, and he pushed two yearbooks my way. “Let’s try pictures of Travis,” I said and began paging through a book. “And Lindsey. And Paige, of course.”
“Here’s Travis.” Joe handed me a book and tapped at a picture. Personally, I wouldn’t have recognized the kid. He was in some sort of shop class, and wearing goggles.
“That’s his talent,” Joe was saying. “Travis is good at fixing things. In particular, he’s a great electrician.”
I wondered if the redhead had been electrocuted, shuddered, and kept looking. But we didn’t find much more on Travis. The caption under his graduation photo told us he liked the Boston Red Sox and “partying.”
Paige Wylie was everywhere in all four yearbooks—drama club, debating team, chess club, cross country skiing, cross country track.
“I don’t see anything on Lindsey,” I said eventually. “She told me she’s a little older than Travis.”
Joe hadn’t noticed anything, either, so we re-checked the books for Lindsey Luke. Nothing.
“That’s weird,” Joe said.
“But does it matter?” I closed the book on my lap. “Even with pictures, I haven’t learned anything useful. Other than you have a amazing daughter.”
“Then it was useful.” He was replacing the books on the shelves when we heard my father calling from below.
“You-hoo,” he yelled. “Anyone home? Have you seen Cassie, Joe?”
“She’s up here with me,” he called down.
I sprang into standing position and went for the stairs.
Dad was smiling up at me. “What are you doing up there, girl?”
Chapter 16
“Quick dinner tonight,” Dad said as I shoved him out the door and toward our own house. “It’s Bingo night.”
“I’m not going to Bingo, and you can wipe that smirk off your face,” I said.
“What smirk?” he asked from behind the smirk. “Of course you’re going to Bingo.”
“I plan on staying home and pouting until further notice.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” We walked inside, and Bobby directed me to the kitchen table. He set out two plates of leftover spaghetti. “Eat.”
While we ate, we argued. My father had some bizarre notion that I had promised when I moved to Lake Bess that I’d always go to the Wednesday night Bingo game with him. I myself had no such memory.
“We haven’t missed a Lake Bess Bingo since you moved here,” he said.
“But I can’t face all those Elizabethans. Everyone thinks I’m nuts.”
“You are nuts. And you’ve been facing Elizabethans all day. You faced Fanny Baumgarten. You faced Joe Wylie.” He waited until I looked up. “Should I even ask what you were doing in his bedroom?”
I put down my fork. “If you must know, we were in his daughter’s bedroom.”
“Kinky!”
“Da-aad! We were looking at her yearbooks.”
He winked at Charlie. “How disappointing.”
“Yeah, right.” I picked up my fork. “Would you stop worrying about my love life? Start worrying about murder, instead.” I described my conversations with Fanny and Lindsey, and Travis, and Joe, and my father lost any remaining residual smirk.
“Girl!” he said. “You can’t go around accusing Travis La Barge of cold-blooded murder.”
“It’s not like anyone believes me.” I twirled the last of the spaghetti onto my fork. “Everyone insists he’s not violent.”
“But what if he is? You could have been in danger.”
“Fanny was with me.”
“And she’d be a big help if the guy turned violent.” Dad pointed to the dog. “Even Charlie would be better protection.”
Charlie thumped his tail and dropped his tennis ball at my feet.
***
Dad pointed to the clock and stood up. “Let’s walk,” he said. “It stopped raining.”
I told Charlie we’d play later, loaded the dishwasher, and Dad and I took off for Elizabeth Circle.
The dirt road was a mess from all the rain we had gotten, but Rose and Ruby didn’t seem to mind. We waved to the gals, and then to Oden Poquette when he jogged by in pursuit.
“I should ask Oden to look for the dead woman,” I told my father. “He has more energy than I do.”
“Speaking of energy, or lack thereof,” Dad said. “Maurice tells me Celia Stump is our new Bingo caller.”
“Isn’t she the woman with the energy level of a slug?”
“That’s Celia.”
“What possessed Maurice to pick her?” I asked.
Desperation was the answer. Maurice and Mimi Gallipeau, the couple who live on the other side of Joe, are in charge of Lake Bess Bingo. Their biggest challenge is keeping a Bingo caller on board. Every few weeks they recruit a new volunteer, and each volunteer promises to be faithful and show up every Wednesday, until death do they part. But it never works out, and Bingo callers around here are about as permanent as deputy sheriffs.
“When Celia quits, you should volunteer,” Dad said.
“I’m too new.”
“Nooo. You’re a bona fide Elizabethan, just like me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be an Elizabethan.”
“Girl! That’s blasphemy. And besides, you’d be the perfect Bingo caller. Proceeds go to the Lake School, and you’re a teacher yourself. And you’re reliable. You certainly won’t run away to join the circus.”
My father was referring to the Simon Haley Bingo debacle. According to legend, Simon had used his hallowed position as Bingo caller to rustle up dates. One night he picked up a female trapeze artist who was staying at the campground, and the two of them haven’t been heard from since.
***
I love Mimi Gallipeau. She’s one of the few people on Planet Earth who have to look up to catch my eye. And that night I loved her even more, since she gave me a great big smile as I entered Town Hall. “I’m glad you showed up,” she told me as I paid the two dollar entrance fees for my father and me. “Show these folks what you’re made of.”
I thanked Mimi for the encouragement, and a hush fell over the crowd as I stepped into the room to show the folks what I was made of. Dot Stewart was collecting money for bingo cards, but when she saw me she couldn’t seem to lift her hands to take my money. I waited, and eventually she got a hold of herself. Then all eyes followed as Dad and I found seats toward the back of the room, as far from Maxine Tibbitts as possible.
Unfortunately Evert Osgood and his dog were sitting with Maxine—Evert on a metal folding chair like the rest of us, and Miss Rusty at his feet. And yes, Evert brings his dog to Bingo. Evert brings his dog everywhere.
I was deciding how to talk to Evert, but still avoid Maxine and the swarm of children taking turns petting Miss Rusty, when Maurice leapt onto the little stage.
Our Bingo emcee, Maurice encourages the crowd to get excited about Lake Bess Bingo. Considering the prizes consist of really cheap toys or one of Mimi’s homemade pies, this is no easy feat. But Maurice does his best. Whenever people start getting bored, he revives our enthusiasm by juggling, walking on his hands, or jumping rope. For a man about my father’s age, he’s surprisingly agile.
Maurice got us started with one of his painfully awful jokes, which invariably involves a Vermont farmer, a cow, and a civil servant, and then Celia Stump shuffled up to the stage. She plopped down on the Bingo caller’s seat, yawned for a solid minute, and at some point mustered up the energy to call out the first number, I-17.
We searched our cards and waited, and within the next five minutes Celia called out the second number, B-2.
Dad nudged me. “You should volunteer.”
***
“You-hoo! Cassie! Bobby!” It was Maxine Tibbitts. It was Bingo intermission. It was hell. “Did you see my column this morning?” she called out as loudly as humanly possible.
“Yes!” all the Bingo players called back.
Like I said. Hell.
Everyone was in the parking lot, making their way over to the Lake Store for whatever snacks or sodas they needed to stay motivated for round two. And of course everyone stopped to stare as Maxine landed at my side.
My father patted my arm and stepped away. Using his teacher-voice and child-herding skills, he directed people toward the store, reminding them they only had fifteen minutes.
But Maxine blocked my path.
“What?” I snapped.
“My column!” she said. “I was pleased my editor ran it on the front page. Weren’t you?”
“I was thrilled,” I said, but of course Maxine didn’t catch the sarcasm. I tried again. “And thanks for including the picture,” I said. “Now everyone in the whole county will recognize me.”
“Isn’t it wonderful? It’ll get lots of attention!” Maxine reached out to shake me. “You’re so cute!”
“I was snarling in that picture.”
“But only a little.” She kept on smiling. “Now everyone will want to help you. They’ll be on the lookout for your redhead.”
“And you had to mention my pajamas?” I asked.
“Oh, absolutely!” Maxine shook me again. “That was part of the human-interest angle. Folks will be remembering you and your pajamas for days. Weeks! Maybe even months!”
***
Maybe Maxine shook me one too many times. Maybe she told me how darn cute I am one too many times. Or maybe I’m nuts. But an idea occurred to me, and I managed to shrug her off.
I marched into the store and elbowed my way through the Bingo players to get to the cash register.
Oliver looked up. Actually, everyone did.
“Can I have your attention?” I announced loud and clear. “I need everyone’s help.” I ignored the look on my father’s face and spoke to the crowd. Loud and clear. “Everyone knows what I look like,” I said, and everyone nodded. “But it’s the dead redhead I need help with. Who was she?”
I described her in as best I could and glanced around at all the expectant faces. Evert Osgood was paying attention, as was Miss Rusty. But no one spoke up.
I sighed and turned to Oliver. “Do you have any ideas?” I asked a lot more quietly. “You know everyone around here, right?”
He shrugged modestly. “There’s a family of redheads in Stone City,” he said. “But no one in their twenties. You sure she was in her twenties?”
“Yes.” I turned around again. “In fact,” I continued, loud and clear. “She was about the same age as Travis La Barge. Isn’t that interesting?” I asked, and my father stared at me, aghast.
I pursed my lips and stepped back to contemplate the moose head above the cash register. And something else occurred to me.
I waved to my father. “I’m leaving.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. I have to go home. But you stay.” I thanked Oliver for his time, pushed Chester Stewart aside, and left in a great big hurry.
“Cassie, wait,” Dad called from the porch. “What about Bingo?”
I told him the game would go on without me and kept walking. I had made it past the Congregational Church when Evert Osgood’s truck pulled up.
“Want a lift?” he asked.
***
Evert didn’t have to ask me twice. He did, however, have to convince Miss Rusty.
“Miss Cassie gets the people seat,” he insisted. He gave her rump a good solid push, and with enough heaving and ho-ing, the dog finally got the hint.
She may have been reluctant to give up the passenger seat, and she may have taken up the entire area where my feet were supposed to go, but Miss Rusty was still totally lovable. She rested her snout on my left knee, and stared up at me with those basset hound eyes.
“Miss Rusty and me had an all-teerior motive for skipping the rest of Bingo,” Evert told me as we began moving.
I stroked the dog’s enormous ears. “The dead redhead?” I asked.
“I don’t know who she was,” he said. “But I know Fanny’s right. Travis is to blame.”
“He claims he wasn’t even here. And Gabe Cleghorn believes him.”
Evert downshifted to make it through one of the muddiest sections of the road. “Sheriff Gabe’s real smart,” he said. “But Fanny’s smarter, if you know what I mean.”
I did. I asked Evert if he had spoken to Fanny that evening. “Did she mention my theory?”
He nodded, but he also insisted Travis was not a murderer.
I swallowed a colorful word and stared out the window.
Evert glanced over. “I did me some thinking during Bingo,” he said. “Came up with a theory of my own.”
I shifted around. “You did?”
“Mm-hmm. Miss Rusty’s a clue.”
I looked at the dog. “You saw the murderer, didn’t you?”
“We don’t know about that,” Evert said. “But the more I think about it, the more I’m sure Miss Rusty wasn’t barking at them goats. She likes Oden’s goats.”
“She was barking at the murderer,” I said.
“Nope. She was barking at Travis.”
“She doesn’t like Travis?” I asked.
“Oh, yes she does. Miss Rusty likes most everyone, and Travis gives her treats.” Evert shifted again. “She visits Fanny when I get home from work, for her evening treat. And for her midnight treat she goes to Travis. I have a doggy door, so she comes and goes as she pleases while I’m asleep.”
I thought about Miss Rusty’s treats schedule. “But this was way past midnight,” I said. “It was closer to 5 a.m.”
“Yep. And there’s my theory. Travis must have fed her twice—her midnight treat, and then again to stop her from barking that morning. Miss Rusty didn’t eat her breakfast, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
Evert reached out his hand, and Miss Rusty gave it a lick. “Miss Rusty’s always hungry,” he said. “I can’t recollect her ever missing a meal before.”
He pulled into Leftside Lane. “So there you have it,” he said as he came to a stop in the driveway. “Solid proof Travis was home yesterday morning.”
I scowled. “Because Miss Rusty didn’t eat breakfast.”
“I told you she’s a clue.”
Chapter 17
“You-hoo? Anyone home?” I let myself in Joe’s screened door.
“Cassie?” he called from above. “Aren’t you at Bingo?”
“No, I’m in your living room. And I need to see those yearbooks again.”
“What are we looking for this time?”
“Not what, who.” I met him on the top tread. “We’re looking for the dead woman. Why didn’t we think of it this afternoon?”
I slipped past him and headed for Paige’s room. “But I was thinking about the redhead during the Bingo break, and then I was looking at that moose head over Oliver’s cash register, and it was like, he spoke to me.”
“The moose told you the redhead went to school with Paige?” Joe asked as we plopped ourselves on the floor again.
“I know it’s crazy.” I grabbed a couple yearbooks. “And don’t worry—the moose didn’t really talk to me. But he did inspire me.” I was flipping through the pages pretty quickly, and Joe suggested I slow down. I flipped to the front and started again. “Did Paige go to school with any redheads?” I asked. “Flaming redheads?”
“The only flaming redheads I know are the McCrea
family in Stone City.”
“Oliver mentioned them.”
“But none of them will be here.” Joe tipped his head toward the yearbook in his lap. “Trisha’s the youngest, and she’s closer to my age than my daughter’s.”
“Look anyway,” I said. “There has to be more redheads around here than one family in Stone City.”
Joe looked up. “That’s where Lindsey Luke lives.”
“In Stone City? What’s the population there—like fifty?”
“Probably closer to a hundred and fifty.” He blinked. “Coincidence?”
“Oh, come on.” I shook my head and reminded him he’s a scientist. “Fact—it’s not against the law to live in the boondocks. Or in the same town as these redheaded McCreas.” I reached out and tapped his yearbook. “Keep looking.”
He blinked again. “Paige reminded me about Lindsey when we talked. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask her about redheads.”
I skipped a beat. “You talked to Paige about this?”
“I called her after you left for Bingo. I thought she might have insight on Travis.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. But let’s talk about Lindsey, first.”
“So talk,” I said. “Talk, talk, talk.”
Joe held up a hand and told me to hold on. “Paige gave me some gossip, okay? But first she scolded me. She reminded me we scientists stick to the facts.”
“Facts, gossip.” I waved a hand. “I’m not a scientist—I’ll take whatever I can get. Even the testimony of Miss Rusty.”
“Excuse me?”
“What did Paige say about Lindsey?”
“She used to be Dean Taylor’s girlfriend.”
“Who?”
Joe leaned over and took the yearbook away from me. “This is the third time today I’ve looked at this thing,” he said and shuffled through the pages until he found the picture of the Student Council from Paige’s sophomore year.
“Dean Taylor was Senior Class president that year.” He pointed out Dean and then showed me his graduation shot. “Looks pretty clean-cut, no?”
“He wasn’t?”
“He was arrested for dealing drugs the summer after he graduated.”
Unbelievable Page 8
